


Entre L'arbre et L'écorce

by doubledecks



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Family Drama, Family Fluff, Gen, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Period Typical Attitudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-04-17 09:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14186175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubledecks/pseuds/doubledecks
Summary: An unexpected visitor brings havoc to Moulinsart. For once, it's not Bianca. (Implied Tintin/Haddock)





	1. L'Hanneton

**Author's Note:**

> Les Aventures de Totor, C.P. des hannetons (The Adventures of Totor, Patrol Chief of the Junebugs) was the first comic strip series written by Hergé, published in July 1926. Totor is three years older than Tintin.
> 
> (Note: "Entre L'arbre et L'écorce" translates to "Between the Tree and the Bark" - roughly analogous to "between a rock and a hard place" in English. It also lends itself to the French proverb "Entre l'arbre et l'écorce il ne faut pas mettre le doigt" which literally translates to "You mustn't put your finger between the tree and the bark" - i.e., "Don't meddle in others' affairs" or "Don't get between two sides of an argument".)

“Hello, my boy! Bit of a late start for you, isn’t it? It’s nearly noon. . .”  
  
Captain Haddock tucked the phone under his chin and checked his watch against the clock in the foyer as Tintin rambled off a list of the morning’s nuisances over the line. The journalist was at the station - Haddock could only just barely make him out over the rumble of a train pulling into the terminal - and he sounded more chipper than his usual self; bordering on almost slaphappy.

The bits and pieces Haddock could catch painted a clear enough picture. The ride had been a terrible bore. . . he would be there very soon. . . he was absolutely _dying_ to climb into bed. . .

Well, then.

Glancing down the hall, Haddock cleared his throat.

 _“I think that can be arranged. . . ”_ he doted, gently mussing his beard. _“You sound veritably fraught, dear heart.”_

Risqué banter had never been his strong suit, but Tintin adored it. So much so in fact that it was for this reason of all things the reporter had broken down and finally taught the sailor everything there was to know about evading wiretap.

 _Using code for sensitive matters is well but I’ve such a weakness for your foul mouth,”_ he'd admitted, his cheeks rouging slightly.

And what a foul mouth it was.

 _". . . oh, you cheeky thing. . . I bet you’re-_ **_SON OF A_ ** **_SIREN_** **_!_ ** _”_

Catching a glimpse of Tintin in the doorway, Haddock flung the handset as if it had burnt him.

Tintin blinked. He had obviously just returned from the newsroom, having parked his bicycle and come in through the back garden - his satchel was still slung across his shoulder, his breath slightly quickened.

Haddock knew it was in Tintin’s nature to stave off panic or outrage until he had answers, but to expect such clemency in this case was unconscionable. A slight twinge of the lad’s lips betrayed that he agreed, and that Haddock had better start talking.

 _“I thought—”_ the Captain stammered, “—I thought that it was— that _YOU—!_ ”

A carefree laugh belted from the receiver below that startled them both. Tintin’s eyes narrowed. He marched over and seized the handset.

 _"Gaat het in uw bolleke?"_ he cried. _"Ik kan je niet geloven!"_

Haddock wondered if he might be having a nightmare or some sort of stroke as Tintin abruptly veered into French.

" _Non. . . non!_ _Oui, si tu dois savoir_ ; _ce n'est plus un secret, évidemment!_ "

He settled into a glower at what sounded like a lecture commencing on the other end of the line.

“Oh, that’s _very_ fresh, coming from you,” he said.

Another round of objections came which sounded more resolute than the last. Eventually it deliquesced into something of a sing-song melody, as if the caller had moved on to other subjects, and then promptly ended in a statement that sent Tintin’s eyebrows to the top of his head.

“If your good graces can tolerate it, then be my bloody guest! _Ja. Vaarwel._ ”

The journalist all but assailed the switchhook with the handset.

Silence settled over the salon. Haddock remained frozen where he was, still feeling very much in limbo.

Tintin blinked again. It looked as if he was coming to after a concussion; as if he had forgotten where he was. Humbled by his outburst, he righted the handset on its base.

“That was my cousin,” he informed quietly.

“Oh,” Haddock replied, at a loss as to what he should say.

“He’s— well. . . he’s coming to stay with us for the week. Apparently.”

Tintin didn’t sound pleased. The Captain was too bewildered to argue.

“I didn’t even know you had a cousin,” he admitted ruefully, and then he looked at his feet, color flooding his face.

“Oh, Captain,” Tintin reassured, patting him on the shoulder. “I liked what I heard, if it’s any consolation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Gaat het in uw bolleke? Ik kan je niet geloven!”  
>  **“Is your brain working? I can’t believe you!”**
> 
> "Non. . . non! Oui, si tu dois savoir; ce n'est plus un secret, évidemment!"  
>  **“No. . . no! Yes, if you must know; it’s not a secret anymore, apparently!”**
> 
> “Ja. Vaarwel.”  
>  **“Yeah. Bye.”**


	2. Lawless

The young man trying in vain to wrench his trunk from the boot of the cab was nearly knocked into the fountain when Milou came tearing down the steps, launching himself at the newcomer without reservation.

" _OUF-!_ Milou, old boy, is that you? My, you've gotten big!"

"That was quite the impressive stunt, Toreke," Tintin called out merrily as he trotted down the stoop. "Impersonate me like that again and I'll have to drop you."

"You were dropped plenty as an infant so I guess that would make us even," Toreke quipped, casting the little dog aside and embracing his cousin. "Heavens, what are you feeding that hound? He's so  _fat._ "

"He was a puppy last you saw him; he's grown," Tintin said dryly.

"At least one of you has."

Toreke was taller than Tintin and slightly lanky, with a round, portly face and small, terse mouth. He wore a pair of long black trousers and a gray wool bomber jacket from beneath which a corner of his shirt jutted, untucked.

He delivered a firm clap to Tintin's back and they drew apart, exchanging identical grins. Insults were undoubtedly their bread and butter.

"Uncle Hatt is well, I trust?"

"Well and barmy!" Toreke confirmed, successfully lugging his trunk out of the car with a grunt and slamming the boot. "The pinchpenny cut me off! Acts as if I've never done a good turn for him, when you and I both well know otherwise-"

"Come now! Is it really so awful making your own way?" Tintin said. "We used to spend weeks at a time by ourselves out in the woods, just living off the land!"

"Tall talk from a graybeard's housepet," Toreke replied with a curt smile, thrusting his trunk into Tintin's arms. "Well done."

Haddock already wanted to wring this rascal's neck.

As it was he could only stand fixed by the door with his hands in his pockets, trying not to look like anything in particular, still prickling with shame and doing his best not to stare. Admittedly it was a bit of a shock to his system seeing somebody who looked so much like Tintin. The resemblance was downright uncanny - almost as if they were brothers rather than cousins. Toreke's penny-blond fringe was even sheared to the exact length of Tintin's, and though his hair lay flat instead of bristling to a quill, he had the same opaque, illegible stare.

Toreke was heading up the stoop and that stare was now leveled directly at the Captain's face.

"Monsieur Dock?" Toreke acknowledged.

 _"Had-_ dock," Tintin corrected behind him, fending Nestor off and hoisting the trunk more securely onto his shoulder. He looked cursed as Atlas, overburdened but resolute nonetheless. " _Captain_ Haddock."

"Oh, like the fish. Charmed," Toreke said with no intonation whatsoever, shaking the Captain's hand so firmly he left a ghostly white imprint across his knuckles. "You can call me Totor - this fine fellow will, in any case, unless he's playing at governess!"

"And how many governesses did you go through before your parents saw fit to cut out the middleman and just do away with you?" came Tintin's reply.

The two shared a bout of laughter so jovial it edged on hostile as they crossed the threshold into the manor.

Haddock broke ranks and made a beeline for the root cellar.  


* * *

  
Archibald knew in his heart of hearts that the stench of hot scotch was definitely reaching Tintin from where he was sitting. He could feel the journalist's glare on him.

 _No one look should be able to deplete another man's fortitude like that,_ he reiterated to himself, refusing to regard it in the confidence that he could mitigate this whole situation if only given the chance.

"Sorry about the, uh—" He motioned dismissively across the dinner table. "You know, all of that."

"Water under the bridge," Totor assured. "Wouldn't exactly call it potable, but all's forgiven."

Tintin's glare migrated to his cousin.

"The academic term for what you pulled is  _entrapment_ , you're aware," he remarked.

"Hardly. It isn't as if I'm some canary from a gossip rag!"

"What's the difference?" Tintin challenged. "Either way I'm never going to hear the end of it."

"Tin," Totor said, and Haddock was discomfited to hear the same gentle undersong in his voice with which Tintin so often consoled him. "I was just having a laugh; I didn't realize it would—"

" _You_ apologize to  _him_ ," Tintin ordered hotly, gesturing first to Totor and then the Captain with his fork.

"It's. . . quite all right, lad. Really," the Captain murmured.

"See? The sot thinks it's fine."

" _So!_ Totor!" the Captain barked more than addressed, finding it critical they change the subject before he lost his temper as well, "from, uh— from where are you coming?"

"Texas."

Now that the Totor wasn't masquerading as Tintin, Haddock had to admit he really did sit on those vowels.

"And how is Texas?" the Captain asked as Nestor reached around him and discreetly pinched his half-empty bottle of rye from the table. "I've never been."

"Oh, it's absolutely mad! There aren't any laws there."

Tintin's silverware clattered on his plate.

"There are too laws," he maintained shortly.

"Well, sure! On a piece of paper, in a safe somewhere. . ."

"There were laws before that," Tintin said. "And if they'd been honored I'd venture to say things might not be in such a sorry state."

"Hardly! Gunslinging is frightful and all, but can you imagine? Walking out of your house and getting an arrow to the face before you can even say _'I forgot my hat!'_?"

"You're still just a fool as ever, aren't you?" Tintin seethed. "A damned fool."

He sounded flattened, profoundly betrayed. Haddock felt his own anger rising again just hearing the hurt in his partner's voice.

" _If anyone's damned here, it certainly isn't me_ ," Totor muttered under his breath like a scorned child.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Seems like things are rather lawless over here as well, aren't they?" Totor said hotly, even as he obstinately busied himself with looking as aloof as possible. "We're just, doing whatever we want in this day and age, aren't we?"

Tintin said nothing to this.

The two stared at each other for so long that Haddock feebly began searching for his rye, devastated to find it missing - catching a glimpse of Nestor in the kitchen, he began to madly flag him down behind the table.

"Yes, Captain - why don't you have Nestor show Totor to his room?" Tintin said. "His overabundance of virtue is exhausting him."

With that, the journalist threw down his napkin and wordlessly excused himself from the table.


End file.
